Remember the Socks
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Missing scene from "Goblet of Fire". Hermione and Ginny confide in each other about the upcoming Yule Ball, for which neither has the partner she really wanted. Are they settling for second-best, or are they protecting themselves from needless heartbreak? Canon pairings.


Remember the Socks

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Harry Potter

Copyright: JK Rowling

"Boys!" exclaimed Ginny, throwing herself backward into a sofa. "Why do they have to be so _stupid!_"

"Tell me about it," muttered Hermione, sitting next to her. She cast a dark look across the Gryffindor common room at Harry and Neville, who were still trying to console Ron after his ill-fated attempt to ask Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball.

"I can't believe I'm related to that prat," Ginny fumed. "After what he said to you … "

"He didn't mean anything by it, you know." As much as Hermione complained about Ron herself, for some reason, hearing him criticized by anybody else always made her rise to his defense.

Catching the look on her face, Ginny rolled her eyes. "He never does. That's the problem, isn't it? He's just … "

"Shallow?"

"I was going to say brainless," Ginny smirked, "But that works."

Hermione sighed. "Is it really so impossible to imagine a boy taking _this_ to the ball?" she said, more bitterly than she intended, holding up a frizzy brown curl and gesturing at her bookbag on the floor for emphasis.

"Don't even say that." Ginny put an arm around her and rubbed her back. "Stop putting yourself down. It happened, didn't it, so how can it be impossible? It's logic, Hermione, you should know all about that."

Even the teasing barely managed to bring a smile to her face, though; it sounded so much like something Ron would say.

"Cheer up," Ginny continued, "Never mind my stupid brother and his … well … almost-as-stupid friend." She blushed again; even after all these years, speaking ill of Harry Potter was clearly a challenge for her. "Think about the ball. You're going with Viktor Krum, how cool is that?"

Ginny beamed, and Hermione smiled back, but mostly to reassure her friend. To tell the truth, she wasn't looking forward to having the grim-faced, eighteen-year-old celebrity as a partner as much as she had hoped.

"I don't know," she confessed. "Honestly, I only said yes to him because he looked so _hopeful_ when he asked me. Like … like Pigwidgeon spotting someone with a letter. How could I say no?" That image was so incongruous that both girls burst out into giggles. "But," Hermione continued, wiping her eyes and catching her breath, "But I do hope I didn't give him any … any ideas, if you kow what I mean. I just don't like him that way."

"You don't?

"He's got no sense of humor, for one thing. And when I talk to him, there's no challenge whatsoever – he just agrees with everything I say!"

She tried not to think of another boy she knew, one who _did_ have a sense of humor, who _was_ a challenge to argue with, who had a laugh as radiant as his hair, a boundless depth of loyalty and friendship, and a most infuriating inability to see what was right in front of his freckled nose … then gave it up as a futile exercise, considering the fact that he was still in the room.

Ginny's rose halfway to her hairline. "You've got to be joking."

"I wish I were."

"Do you know how many girls would _die_ to be in your shoes?"

"Hmph, don't remind me. He can hardly take a step without his fan club sniffing him out."

Ginny shook her head and laughed incredulously. "You are something else, Hermione. I can see why Krum fancies you."

Hermione looked away.

"Ooh, I could punch Ron!" Ginny burst out, in a nonsequitur that made it Hermione's turn to raise her eyebrows as high as that could go. "Or Bat-Bogey him. Which would be worse, d'you think?"

"What brought this on, Ginny? I thought we'd changed the subject."

Ginny gave her a peculiar look, opened her mouth, then closed it again and shook her head,as if she'd been about to say something and thought better of it.

"It's just … for three and a half years, the three of you have been practically joined at the hip, and he still doesn't know you," she said. "As if you'd ever do something so mean as lying to Neville to get out of taking him to the ball. I mean, Neville's really nice!"

She blushed to the roots of her orange hair. Hermione could guess what she was thinking. Part of her was deeply relieved at Ginny's steering the conversation elsewhere; thankful that the redhead hadn't tried to explain her odd mental leap from Viktor's fancying Hermione to Ron's mistakes. Any theory of Ginny's on that score would only embarrass everyone involved.

"Neville's great," she assured her younger friend. "You did the right thing, saying yes to him."

"Is it really fair to him, though?" Ginny asked, squeezing a pillow in her arms. Her brown eyes turned wistful as they followed a head of untidy black hair climbing the stairs up to the boys' dorm. "When everyone knows he's not the one I really … "

"Oh, Ginny, I understand." Hermione glanced in the same direction, and saw a fiery head following the black one. The boys were at their ease now, smiling and chatting. Probably congratulating themselves on scoring their dates with the pretty Patil sisters. "Believe me … but you'll have to get over Harry someday."

"I know." Ginny hugged the pillow. "He likes Cho Chang, doesn't he? Even though she turned him down."

"I'm afraid he does."

"She's two years older than me," Ginny murmured. "She even plays Seeker, like him. And she's gorgeous, of course. _She_ doesn't have to wear her brothers' secondhand robes." She yanked a stray thread out of her fraying sleeve with an envious glare that, once again, reminded Hermione of Ron.

"Now, Ginny," she caught the redhead's hand to stop her doing more damage to the worn fabric, "Didn't I hear you say something a few minutes ago about not putting yourself down?"

"I'm only facing facts, Hermione."

"No, you're not," said Hermione kindly. "If I'm good enough for Viktor Krum, you're more than good enough for Harry. He may be the Boy Who Lived, You-Know-Who's worst enemy and an excellent Seeker, but at the end of the day, he's still a teenage boy."

"Your point?" Ginny grumbled.

"My point is that idolizing him won't do either of you any good. He hates it when people do that, and as for you, it only makes you feel bad about yourself."

"You think so?" Ginny leaned back in her chair, a blazing, hungry look in her eyes. Harry had told Hermione once about the Mirror of Erised; she would have bet every book she owned that if Ginny had looked into it, she would have seen herself in Harry's arms, with exactly that look on her face. "Maybe … but _how?_ He saved my life, Hermione. I'll never forget that. I've been dreaming about him for so long … "

Hermione, who saw Harry much the same way Ginny saw Ron, smiled wryly as she remembered some of her celebrity friend's less-than-stellar moments.

"If it helps," she said, "I've been to their dormitory, and I can tell you his socks smell just as bad as Ron's."

"_Hermione!_"

"It's true! He's got a mustard-yellow pair that belonged to his uncle, they're so stretched out of shape you could stick your whole arm in."

"Eurgh!" Ginny giggled.

"Once in the summer, he lost control of his magic and made his Aunt Marge swell up like a balloon." Ginny yelped. "She deserved it, according to him, for being a great bullying cow, but can you imagine the scene that must have made?"

They had a hearty laugh together, amused and horrified at the image of a fat, angry woman bobbing in the air.

"Poor Harry," said Ginny, "How embarrassing! He didn't get in trouble for it, did he?"

"Oh no," said Hermione, "Mr. Fudge let him off with a warning."

"Well, that's good."

Hermione hoped her tactics hadn't backfired. She was trying to help Ginny get over Harry, not make her sympathize with him. Still, a glance at Ginny's laughter-crinkled eyes reassured her; two years ago, the younger girl might have burst into a rage or stormed out of the room at any hint of disrespect to her hero. Ginny was growing up, slowly but surely, and if Harry didn't take notice of her, someone else would.

For her friend's sake, Hermione prayed that whoever it was would be good for her.

"You know," said Ginny, briskly smoothing her robes as she got to her feet, "I'm going to have _fun_ at this ball. I've made up my mind."

"Good for you." Hermione followed her.

"I'm going to dance 'til I drop, and so are you. If Viktor Krum dances the way he flies, you're going to be the luckiest girl at Hogwarts." Ginny winked and nudged her in the ribs.

"And I'm sure Neville will treat you like a princess," Hermione replied warmly. "Because you deserve it."

"No more pining away waiting for the boys we like to notice us," Ginny declared, giving the brunette a meaningful look. "Until they do, we're just going to have fun without them. Remember the socks."

This, Hermione thought, was a powerful advantage to having female friends; they knew how you felt without you having to spell things out. She linked arms with Ginny in gratitude.

"Remember the socks," she echoed.


End file.
